The servants whispered from behind the door, the sound a constant buzzing in the background. They didn't realise that when your body shuts down, your other senses are heightened. He could hear them, most of what they said, and when they left the window open too he could hear the garden's beauty. Birds searching for their mate, bees in adoration of the flowers, and flies on their never ending quest to seek and annoy. He'd become accustomed to the sound of the breezes in the trees, and wind rattling the window panes. And the smells...oh the jasmine that drifted in, the heady scent of the climbing roses in full bloom, even the chamomile tea they served her as she read. Yes, the tea and her soft melodious voice like honey trickling into his ears. He loved that best.

The dark never seemed quite so overwhelming when someone was reading to him. At times a man came too, a timbre so deep it reverberated through his bones as if to rouse him into movement. Whilst she talked of sweet words and gentleness, of the trivialities that made her day, the man instead read from his own writings. They were soulful, deep and moving. When he read to him, the man never felt less than riveted, consumed with the emotional pull of each piece. He was sea salt and adventure, all action and awkwardness, bare emotion and deepest darkest regrets. Sometimes he knew the servants must be sleeping, and it was nighttime, not by any other stimuli than the man was about. He only seemed to read in the silence, when nobody else was around. The man knew he'd opened a window each time because he smelt fresh night air, and the other's cardamon and spice scent. He was curious at first, resistant to that voice, but now he longed for those visits.

He knew his lady love. He could picture her wild blonde tresses and soft pouty pink mouth. She has a sweet nature and was giddy and gay, fun loving and oh so young. In the early days he'd heard them say not to hold his hand so tight she'd cut his circulation off! She'd giggle and laugh and chat to him like he was awake, though he knew his body was closed down. He couldn't get his eyes to open, nor his mouth to speak. He couldn't tell her he loved her, and what her visits meant. Whereas he didn't know the man, nor recognise his voice, how he knew her. She was his childhood...